om
all that. It will be interesting to do it--so interesting that I'll be
sorry when it's done, and I'll be looking about for something else to
do."

She was not without hope that the books would come that same evening.
But they did not. The next day passed, and the next, and still no
books. Apparently he had meant nothing by his remark, "I've some books
you'd be interested to read." Was his silence indifference, or was it
shyness? Probably she could only faintly appreciate the effect her
position, her surroundings produced in this man whose physical
surroundings had always been as poor as her mental surroundings--those
created by that marvelous mind of his--had been splendid.

She tried to draw out her father on the subject of the young man, with
a view to getting a hint as to whether he purposed doing anything
further. But old Hastings would not talk about it; he was still
debating, was looking at the matter from a standpoint where his
daughter's purely theoretical acumen could not help him to a decision.
Jane rather feared that where her father was evidently so doubtful he
would follow his invariable rule in doubtful cases.

On the fourth day, being still unable to think of anything but her
project for showing her prowess by conquering this man with no time for
women, she donned a severely plain walking costume and went to his
office.

At the threshold of the "Sanctum" she stopped short. Selma, pencil
poised over her block of copy paper and every indication of impatience,
albeit polite impatience, in her fascinating Cossack face, was talking
to--or, rather, listening to--David Hull. Like not a few young
men--and young women--brought up in circumstances that surround them
with people deferential for the sake of what there is, or may possibly
be, in it--Davy Hull had the habit of assuming that all the world was
as fond of listening to him as he was of listening to himself. So it
did not often occur to him to observe his audience for signs of a
willingness to end the conversation.

Selma, turning a little further in her nervousness, saw Jane and sprang
up with a radiant smile of welcome.

"I'm SO glad!" she cried, rushing toward her and kissing her. "I've
thought about you often, and wished I could find time to come to see
you."

Jane was suddenly as delighted as Selma. For Selma's burst of
friendliness, so genuine, so unaffected, in this life of blackness and
cold always had the effect of sun sudden